


Apudne Te vel Me?

by infamousplot



Series: is it your place, or mine? [2]
Category: Fate/kaleid liner PRISMA ILLYA, Fate/stay night, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, fate series
Genre: idk - Freeform, semi-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2517002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infamousplot/pseuds/infamousplot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Congratulations, dog... your life has been deemed worthy of being saved."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

His eyes peeled open slowly, the world around him a dark, damp haze. His clothes were soggy and cold, with a nice layer of ooze caked just about everywhere. Gagging, he sat up, trying to brush it off. Most of it had hardened from the cold, but it was still slimy and putrid.

Gilgamesh took in his surroundings. The forest, out near the Einzbern's... the sky was dark, dusky. Sun would be rising in about an hour. He yawned, despite himself, his muscles popping and cracking as he tried to stand up.

Whatever had transpired the night before was nothing more than a blur now. A mission for Kirei, no doubt, and he was quite certain the dog had been there too. Now though, the lancer was nowhere to be seen. Gil _tsked_ in disapproval, trying to pick a clump of mud off his shoulder. Had the dumb mutt took off on him? Or had he met his demise? Either way, Gilgamesh had expected more. How pathetic.

He stretched, and something inside of him bubbled. Ah yes, the mud. It still hadn't calmed itself. He'd had to resort to that form, to take out Assassin. Had they defeated it? He couldn't recall. Everything was fuzzy when he let the ooze break his shell. He would have needed a decent chunk of mana to get back to this form... had he swallowed some of Assassins bodies? It had only been an hour or so, he couldn't have just pulled himself together- not even he, the King of Heroes, was powerful enough to recover _that_ quickly.

His stomach roiled, a heavy lump of mana resting somewhere deep inside... whatever it was, it seemed he hadn't broken it down yet. He shuddered, another wave of mud coming on, and he fell to his knees, gagging as the ooze pushed itself back up his throat, through his pores. Until he'd finished his meal, it seemed his true form would not be so easily maintained.

The mana seeped from his prey, filtering through the veiny channels within, and Gil thought he could feel it struggling. Still alive? He had not remembered Assassin being nearly that tenacious. His sunk deeper inside himself, trying to see just what it was he had swallowed.

Gilgamesh blinked. Of all the things he'd thought he'd find, he hadn't for a moment expected the dog. But there it was, Lancer, slowly breaking apart deep down in the ooze. So that was where he'd gone.

He was surprised to see the his body was still in tact. The first layer of mana had already been stripped down and taken apart, and the mud was working its way through him, snapping his magic circuits. It was... almost a shame, seeing him so helpless, his life leached from him slowly, his body appropriated by another. Even if it was himself, a spirit much worthier of existing in this plane, to suffer such a fate... surely even the mutt didn't deserve that.

Ah well. It couldn't be helped. He was already rather close to his core, and if he didn't digest him, he'd be stuck as a pile of mud. Not all sacrifices were fair, but such was life.

He took another step, and Lancer shuddered, his mana pitching a fit. Even now, he still fought, tried to resist assimilation. Gil sighed, shaking his head. Had he been in his own mind, he wouldn't have tried eating such a troublesome meal... if he kept up like this, it would be a long walk home.

He could probably just warp there, with the Gates, but he wasn't sure how much energy that would take. More than enough to catalyze the rest of Lancer's decomposition, surely. For some reason, that thought made him feel... disappointed? He couldn't quite place the name. It was necessary, yes, and sooner was preferable to later, but... But what?

"Could you not be agreeable just _once_ in your life?" he asked impatiently, glaring down at where he assumed his core was located. "I understand this fate is not desirable, but what's done it done. Accept your end, dog." He did not expect a response, and he did not get one, other than an oppressive weighty feeling inside. Yes, disappointment, but something else. Something heavier. Could it be sorrow?

"What do you expect me to do, hmm? Allow myself to suffer just for your sake? You overestimate my compassion mongrel." he sighed, pushing forward. Every step was a little easier, more of Lancer's mana stolen into himself. It never seemed to end- the Servant was chock full of it, more than he would have expected. Soon he would be able to rebuild his shell without a problem- and he hadn't even breached the second level yet.

Gil frowned. It wouldn't take even a fourth of the man's mana to replenish himself. If he were to fully digest Lancer, he'd have no worries about reverting to this form for months. Perhaps more. He would be at the top of his game, surely. The Servant certainly was a little powerhouse, now wasn't he?

"I suppose you consider it a waste, to swallow you whole when I only needed a bite?" he asked tersely, knowing full well Lancer couldn't hear him. Even if he was alive, he was far from conscious. "And that a fair and just king would spare you of this suffering, since it has been deemed unnecessary?" He didn't know why he was saying all this. It did not matter, did it? It wasn't as if Lancer was aware of anything. He was essentially dead now, or about to be, so what difference would it make if he spared him or not?

It was probably a good thing, getting the mongrel out of the way, with such little effort. Now he could finally have his room to himself again. No more fighting over the couch. No more dragging him around on recon. Or fighting. Or complaining. Or anything. At all. Ever.

Yes. He would be alone again. But that was what he wanted, right? He had no need for comrades of any sort, and Lancer... just complicated things. He wasn't needed. Gilgamesh had spent the last part of his life in solitude, and the past ten years in solitude, and just because some mangy mutt had stuck around for a couple of months did not render him incapable of returning to that solitude.

The mud was fervent, ready to tear into what was left of Lancer, but Gilgamesh heaved a heavy sigh. His shell pushed itself out, just a little, enough to walk across the grounds.

"Calm yourself." he uttered, plodding slowly toward the church. "It will be done soon."

 

* * * * *

By the time he reached the church, his shell was cracking, begging for more energy. He ignored it, pulling himself up through the window with difficulty. Everything inside of him was straining, and he hit the floor unceremoniously, the thud echoing through the empty room. Such an ugly, lonely sound.

Slowly, he forced himself up, and his shell fell apart, overcome by sludge. He wretched, his insides writhing and twisting, forcing all it had consumed back to the surface. Slowly but surely, a human form began to show itself, sliding out from beneath the ooze.

Lancer fell to the ground, pale skin drenched in mud. Gil wheezed, the sludge crawling backwards, away from the exposed body. Weakly, he writhed, trying to mold himself into a proper shape. He'd absorbed enough mana to put his shell together, and to keep it maintained until he could regain it naturally.

"Congratulations, dog..." he breathed, getting shakily to his feet. "Your life has been deemed worthy of being saved."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday I will write part two :I 
> 
> Once again, Black Gil is inspired by eternalswordrain on tumblr c': Specifically the part about Gil's body being like a shell for the Grail Mud. Thank you for your inspiration Mu <333


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things had been the same for the past ten years, before Kirei had brought the mongrel home, and disrupted the balance of it all. Everything had changed so fast, and then suddenly the dog was dead and he was dead, and now things were exactly the same as they had been before the war. Except Lancer was still here. Lancer had become a constant in his world, whether he was wanted it or not. And now… now he had the gall to die on him, to throw his life away and leave him...

Gilgamesh pulled himself across the room, a slow and laborious effort. His legs felt like lead, his vision blurring before him. Thick globs of mud dripped down his skin, golden hair tainted with black. Centuries were spent crawling across the floor before he finally reached the bathroom.

In the mirror he saw a face that now only barely passed for his own. Gilgamesh was not so pale, his eyes sunken in as his body churned desperately, trying to burn more mana. He scowled at it, disgusted that this was what he had been reduced to- a pile of Grail Mud, slopping about in a human shell. Disgraceful. He ripped a towel from the rack, rubbing his face aggressively, staining the plush white with an ugly black.

It would take awhile for what he had skimmed from Lancer to complete its course and replenish him, allow him to look more like the Golden King and less like a lump of _filth_. The longer he stared at his reflection, the harder it was to hold the half-dead gaze watching him in the glass. A porcelain vase, filled to the brim with mud, cracking and falling to pieces when it was struck hard enough.

He had grown weak in that decade spent without war, falling back on the power of the Grail to preserve his own- and now he had become dependent on it. How utterly _pathetic_. Was he not stronger that this? Better than it? To use this mound of sludge as a crutch, to feed off the bodies of others just to maintain his own form… it was not the way of a king. It was the way of a worm.

He was above this life, above crawling through the dirt and eating rot. Mud was meaningless, without use or worth, a pit of death for all that fell into it. It cared for no one, and in return, no one cared for it.

And maybe that was why he has swallowed it, let it inside. Maybe that was why it had claimed him so easily. For a long time he had been empty- longing to be filled, no matter the cost. Deep beneath the murky surface, in the broken fossils and oily memories buried in that ugly, black vat, he had seen himself, reflected. He was an echo of its hollow loneliness.

Gilgamesh tore his gaze from the mirror, stalking from the bathroom with a bit more certainty in his steps. He forced solidity into his form, the stained towel gripped tightly in his fist. He had no need for these thoughts, and no time for them either.

It only took a few steps for him to pause, standing in the center of the dawn-bathed room, lacking any goal. Lancer was lying where he had left him, eerily still. Gilgamesh watched him for a moment, expectant.

“Get up, dog,” he commanded, staring at the man’s pale form. His skin glistened with sweat, mixing with mud and dripping to the floor, leaving a grotesque puddle to form beneath the body. “Rise, Lancer.” Gilgamesh growled throatily, stepping closer to the Servant. He did not move. “Do not test my patience,” he raised his voice, looming over him. “Are you trying to make me regret my decision?

Lancer did not stir. Without having to touch him Gilgamesh could already tell he was cold, limp. He had not faded, his body still remained, but that did not mean much. Battle Continuation kept him going far longer than necessary, so long as he still had mana. Even his corpse would not vanish that quickly.

“Get up, mongrel.” Gilgamesh snarled, prodding him with his foot. He felt heavy. Lifeless. Gilgamesh grit his teeth, paperthin patience shuddering violently. “Dog!” he shouted, his voice booming through the room, down the empty halls. He did not care if the priest woke. There was not much he cared for at all. _“Lancer!”_

Nothing. He was motionless, a broken doll upon the floor. Slowly, Gilgamesh found himself on his knees. “Cuchulainn.” he said numbly, unable to bring his eyes to the man’s face, to see that dead paleness, sunken in and crumbling into nothing. He knew that would be all it took, for Lancer to fade, back into the Grail, gone without a trace. _Just like that time so many years ago, just like him, nothing left but mud._

“Cu?” he asked, expecting nothing and getting nothing, still. A flicker of rage burnt what was left of his patience, drawing him out of that frozen state and starting up a flurry of anger, of fear. He was scared. For the first time since facing Riastrad, he was afraid. Except he wasn’t afraid of him, not this time. Gilgamesh shook.

“You _fool_.” he hissed. “Is that really the extent of your strength?! Pathetic!” he roared, forcing himself to his feet. He landed a swift kick to the man’s side, not caring how hard it hit. A corpse could not feel. He was a walking corpse and he did not feel. That was what he chose to believe and so it would be true. “ _Mongrel_. I expected more of you! Were you not the one who boasted of dying on your feet, of killing several men even after you had passed?! You dare to call yourself a Heroic Spirit, yet allow yourself to lie face down, beneath the mud?!” Gilgamesh kicked him harder, harder, again and again. Sweat ran down his face, his shell still weak. Once again he was on his knees, shaking. Lancer did not move. He did not stir. Gilgamesh closed his eyes.

“You weren’t supposed to _die_.” he breathed.

He should not have felt like this. Lancer was nothing, another useless mongrel taking up space in the world. He had not lost anything, because he had not had anything to lose. One could not remove an absence of space, it could only be filled. The dog had no purpose beyond amusement. A broken tool, just as unreliable and pathetic as the rest.

The more he told himself these things, the more they felt like excuses. Why did these words sound like lies, weak attempts to trick his own mind? He didn’t care. It didn’t mean anything. Nothing had changed, nothing important- he had been alone for the last decade, and countless decades before that. The appearance of this mutt had made no difference, and so his disappearance was just as meaningless. He did not care.

Things had been the same for the past ten years, before Kirei had brought the mongrel home, and disrupted the balance of it all. Everything had changed so fast, and then suddenly the dog was dead and he was dead, and now things were exactly the same as they had been before the war. Except Lancer was still here. Lancer had become a constant in his world, whether he was wanted it or not. And now… now he had the gall to die on him, to throw his life away…

He was not allowed to die, he was not allowed to _leave him-_

A soft sound mumbled its way into the silence, and Gilgamesh’s breath caught in his throat, startled and confused as Lancer groaned, pitiful and weak. He was breathing, his body shifting painfully on the carpet. Gilgamesh stared. He blinked. Lancer coughed, confirming the king’s sanity. He was alive.

For a while Gilgamesh just sat there, holding his breath, as though moving would break the spell, undo whatever had caused the man to stir again. Lancer’s chest continued to rise and fall, though his breaths were wracked with painful coughs, blood and slime spattering the carpet with each one. Vaguely, Gil could remember the wounds he had had. Most of them were gone, though his stomach had a rather ugly gash in it, sealed up with what looked like burns. He wondered if magic would be able to fix that.

With a sigh, he tossed the towel over Lancer, shaking his head and scowling. Nervous energy still wavered inside of him.

"You fool." he murmured, trying to rid Lancer's hair of the slime. The man stirred, but his eyes did not open. "We aren't telling anyone about this."

The dark mud stained the white towel. Perhaps he should have chosen something of a darker shade. Not that it would make a huge difference. Either way it would need to be thrown away. The mud smeared, staining his hair a much darker blue. There wasn’t much of a point in cleaning him off, the mud seemed more prone to moving about than actually soaking into the towel. Beneath his hand, Gilgamesh could feel him shivering. Finally, he gave up with the towel, laying it aside and getting to his feet.

“It is not a king’s job to care for reckless mongrels,” he muttered, pulling open a drawer in the bureau and rifling through it for the man’s clothes. All he had was that eyesore of a shirt, and a sad looking pile of leather pants. At least it narrowed down selection. Grabbing from the top of the meager pile, he shoved the drawer shut, the force enough to make the bureau rattle. “You stupid mutt… it’s a miracle you’re even alive after all that.” Stalking back to where Lancer lay, he pulled him up roughly, dropping the shirt over his head and yanking it down, struggling to get his arms through the holes. The entire time Lancer hardly stirred, letting Gilgamesh move his limbs about, a sad, cold doll.

Glowering down at him, he tried pulling his pants on. How did he manage to fit into these things? They were so tight, and the texture surely chafed. Not only did Lancer lack taste in fashion but he had no sense of comfort either. Pathetic. Downright atrocious.

“I take my eyes off of you for one second and you’re floundering for life…” he seethed, linking his arms beneath his and heaving him up from the floor. He would have loved for the dog to grunt, a whimper of pain or a startled huff, anything to show that he was aware of his surroundings, but still he got nothing. “Still, being down there for that long would be more than enough to kill most Servants.” Regardless of their strength or ego, it wouldn’t take long to unwrite them.

He dragged him across the floor, tossing him up onto the bed that they shared. It shook, but he didn’t move. Gilgamesh glowered at him, and as the bed stopped creaking, he realized that he was shaking.

“You have a lot of nerve.” he muttered, standing over him once again. He just wanted for him to sit up. Say something, insult him, complain, anything at all. All he did was lie there, quivering, breathing just enough to prove he wasn’t dead. “Worming your way in, then having the audacity to vanish? If circumstances were different, I would see it fit to punish you…” He took a seat on the bed, watching as Lancer’s body continued to rise and fall, his broad back to him, hair falling in messy tangles across the covers. With another sigh, Gilgamesh pulled the blankets down, then back up, trying to warm the quivering mongrel. “It seems you have been punished enough as it is though.” he murmured, allowing himself to lie down. And for no reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No, in this case, the dog was not at fault. He was a victim of circumstance. A survivor of circumstance too.

“You oughtn’t rely on my pity in the future.” Gilgamesh growled, though his voice lacked malice. Whether he was too tired to care or too relieved, he couldn’t tell, but at this point it hardly mattered. A yawn seized him as he shuffled beneath the blankets, watching Lancer wearily. His breathing seemed to be getting more regular with each second that passed, though he was still cold to touch. Cold, but alive. He was still alive.

It seemed his luck wasn’t so awful after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Raii, Mu, and Fear for reading through this for me and helping me to finally finish this shit ;u; And thanks again to Mu for the inspiration to write it! Black Gil and related ideas are courteosy of her uwu


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancer wakes up and recalls a vivid nightmare...

He didn’t want to die. Darkness choked him, black and thick, forcing its way inside of him and drowning him in its oblivion. It hurt. Everything hurt and he couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t _breathe._ He needed to scream, but no sound came out, nothing at all. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t _breathe-_

Lancer opened his eyes. His heart hammered in his chest, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He was cold. The hairs along his arms and neck prickled, skin clammy. Groggy and confused, Lancer sat up slowly, trying to remember when he had crawled into bed. Lifting the blankets, which were damp with sweat, he could see the goosebumps lining his body. He was still fully clothed, but not in his armor like he had been last night…

Last night. His head throbbed painfully at the thought, eyes blurring. Everything felt fuzzy. What had happened to him? He and Gilgamesh, they’d been sent out to fight another Servant, some form of Hassan, but things had gone wrong. Very wrong. He’d been bleeding, Gilgamesh had been reduced to mud, and then… what? Lancer remembered sludge, seeping into his open wounds, his mouth, devouring him from the inside out. It had hurt like hell, felt too real to be a dream, but here he was, untouched. Had they even gone on that mission? Was all of it just in his head?

“Talk about weird fuckin’ dreams…” Lancer sighed, lying back down, arms sprawled across the mattress. He was still so tired, and the soft sheets were very tempting… the sound of shoes against carpet caught his ears though, and he turned his head instinctively, sore muscles tensing.

“You’re finally awake.” Gilgamesh paused, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his shirt half buttoned, fingers hovering hesitantly above the divide. Lancer propped himself up on his elbows, suppressing a yawn. “I was beginning to think you’d be lying there forever.” Gilgamesh’s gaze dropped quickly, returning his attention to his shirt. He fumbled, tugging at the fabric, trying too hard to distract himself but not really focusing. Lancer frowned.

“Yeah, guess I slept in…” he shrugged, a nagging sensation in the back of his head. Images from his nightmare were still playing somewhere in his mind, shadows lurking, making him anxious. Why had Gilgamesh thought he wouldn’t wake up? Why had he looked surprised to see him? Though it hurt, his muscles coiled tighter, anxiety mixing with suspicion. “Looks like you did too, if you’re only getting dressed now.” His voice was tight, almost accusatory. Gilgamesh’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze hard, but clouded- by what, Lancer couldn’t tell.

“How are you feeling?” Gilgamesh asked. Lancer didn’t answer for a moment, too surprised by the question itself.

“Uh, fine, I guess? Tired. A little sore.” _Why do you ask?_ A better question would be, why did he care? Cu tried sitting up more, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, but his vision exploded, fuzzy, sand-like textures dancing in his eyes. He brought a hand to his head, clutching it, until the sensation went away. “Uhg… what happened last night?”

“You were badly injured in the fight with Assassin.” Gilgamesh replied, flat and lacking interest. He walked toward the bureau, where he kept his jewelry, his body language doing its damnedest to convey that it didn’t give a shit about what he was saying.

“Badly injured?” Lancer frowned, glancing down at himself. He didn’t look injured, and he didn’t feel injured either. He just felt tired.

“Yes… the fight took a lot out of both of us, but we chased the cretins off in the end.” Gilgamesh looked like he was talking to his reflection, fingers fumbling with each earring. “Do you not recall any of it?”

“Not a lot… I remember leaving and fighting, but the rest is…” Lancer trailed off, not quite sure what to say. He couldn’t mention such a fucked up dream to him, that was for sure, but the fact that it felt so vivid made him hesitate even more. “How long have I been out, anyway?” Lancer yawned loudly, wincing at all the little pops in his muscles when he stretched.

“We got back around six this morning. You have been asleep since.” Gilgamesh continued not looking at him. It was then that Lancer happened to look at the clock, and his heart jumped. 3:12 PM.

“Shit-” He swore, tossing the blankets aside. He had work, he was supposed to be at work 5 _hours_ ago. He shouldn’t have taken so many goddamn jobs, not while he was juggling Servant things on top of it, but he hated to be bored and there was too much downtime between recon. “Why the hell didn’t you wake me up, I’m gonna get fucking fired-”

Gilgamesh started to say something, but Lancer didn’t get the chance to hear it. Pain split through his stomach as he stood, a burning sensation that only made the dizziness worse. With  a grunt, he was down, crashing against the hardwood floor. Stars glittered and he groaned, sitting up slowly.

“I _said_ be careful, mongrel!” Gilgamesh growled, climbing over the bed to get to his side. Lancer looked up, dazed. His stomach felt like it had been ripped in half. Hesitantly, he tried pushing himself up, but his head had started to swim again. “It’s a miracle you are able to sit _up_ , much less walk. Do you honestly expect to be able to dash out of here and work?” Gilgamesh spat his words, and they felt like daggers to his pounding ears. Weakly, he looked up. Gil was a blur.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, swallowing the urge to throw up. His stomach hissed as him as he twisted over, trying to sit up, and he winced, pulling up his shirt to take a look. An ugly wound, stained black and sealed with fire, stared back at him stared back at him. The nausea returned, and his vision swam as he forced bile back into his empty stomach.

“It… it wasn’t a dream.” he said numbly, looking up at Gilgamesh. The man stared back t him, his eyes hard and cold. Lancer swallowed again, the memories becoming more clear, flashing violently in his mind’s eye. “You… you _ate_ me.” he breathed, a fearsome sort of awe in his voice. He knew that Servants sometimes fed off of humans to replenish their mana, be it draining them via magic or straight up drinking their blood, but… he’d never put much thought into it. It was something he’d promised himself he’d never resort to doing- eating another person, while they were still alive…

Attacking another Servant for mana, though… that had never crossed his mind either, but when he thought about it, it seemed just as efficient. You got rid of the enemy and powered up.

 _But I’m not the enemy,_ his mind argued feebly. _Why eat me? Why not one of those Assassins?_ Lancer forced himself to his feet. He felt light headed still, but he leaned against the bedpost for support.

He remembered being devoured and broken apart, laughed at all the while. He shouldn’t have woken up, shouldn’t even be alive right now… so why was he?

Lancer looked up at Gilgamesh, to see that the man’s expression had not changed. He hadn’t moved an inch.

“So you remember after all. I suppose that’s a good thing. If your memory is intact then there is nothing wrong with your mind.” He spoke calmly, much too composed for Lancer’s liking. It made him anxious. Gilgamesh was all but admitting he’d betrayed him, but he was saying it like it was nothing.

_And it is nothing. To him, you’re nothing. Not good for anything but being a battery, right?_

“Don’t act so- so apathetic about all this!” Lancer snarled. Instinctively, his body tensed, wanting to step forward, but his stomach felt ready to split open if he moved in the wrong direction. He didn’t feel like seeing his intestines again. “We were fighting together,” he hissed, tightening his grip on the bedpost, “And you tried to kill me!”

“I assure you, if I’d intended to kill you, you would be dead.” Gilgamesh replied flatly. He looked stern, still working hard to stay focused on nothing.

“Oh, so you _weren’t_ trying to kill me when you ate me alive. That’s good to know! God forbid you actually _do_ try to kill me, I’m terrified to know what that would look like!” Dark and tight, hot and cold at the same time, acid burning inside of him… he really couldn’t imagine a fate much worse, other than a prolonged version of the former.

“Lancer, sit down. You are going to exacerbate your wound if you keep shouting and flailing about like this.” Gilgamesh scolded him, and Lancer groaned. He didn’t want to sit down. That would mean giving up the advantage of height, letting his guard down so that monster made of mud could emerge and pin him down again. He remembered it all now, with a painful accuracy, but he was trying not to focus on it. It wasn’t like it was anything personal. Anyone could have been in his place. He’d just been unlucky enough to be partnered up with Gil to begin with, and stupid enough to convince himself that the Archer gave a shit.

“Why am I here?” Lancer forced himself to look at Gil, but the man still would not meet his gaze.

“I brought you back after I came to my senses.” He said curtly, his tone not inviting Lancer to implore further. Lancer ignored it.

“No, I mean- _how_ am I here? You absorbed me, I remember-”

“You remember correctly. I just changed my mind.” Gilgamesh finally turned his body, looking Lancer in the eyes, but his expression did not change. Lancer suddenly wished he would go back to ignoring him- he felt like a bug under a magnifying glass now.

“Why?” he asked, eyes narrowed. Why would Gilgamesh go to the trouble of consuming him if he was just going to… spit him back out?

“It would have taken more energy to break you down than I would have gotten from you.” Gilgamesh said. There was an edge to his voice, a growing impatience that dared Lancer to question him further. Lancer couldn’t help it though.

“It would have taken a hell of a lot less energy to just take a drink than it did to eat me whole.” He said bitingly. Gilgamesh stared at him, and Lancer felt a chill run down his spine. Still, he continued. “And all of that taunting, the laughing- was that just for the hell of it?” His throat was getting tighter. There was no reason to care about this now. The battle was over and he was alive. Gilgamesh and him weren’t friends, they were allies of circumstance, and that didn’t mean they had to get along. He could leave for work right now, come home like nothing happened, and they would move on with their lives, until Gilgamesh ‘changed his mind’ again.

Lancer swallowed the lump in his throat.

“You were enjoying it.” He accused. “You didn’t care how much you needed, you just wanted to make me squirm-”

“The gain was not worth the cost!” Gilgamesh snapped suddenly, and despite himself, Cu winced. He stepped back, fingers curling around the space where his spear would appear if he were to call it. Even with the impatient glower, Gilgamesh looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept at all. He inhaled sharply, fists clenched at his side. “Why would I waste my energy trying to break down a mongrel like you?” He snarled, the anger in his voice stemming from something other than disdain. Cu could smell it in the air between them- hell, the whole room was full of that primal scent… fear. Gilgamesh had been afraid. He still was.

The man let out a long, exasperated sigh, and pushed his bangs back. Eyes closed, he composed himself, continuing in a more controlled tone.

“You have more uses  when you’re alive. It would be a waste to eat you when I only needed a fraction of your mana…” He looked at Cu tiredly. “I am a hedonist, yes, but by no means am I a glutton.”

Lancer stayed standing where he was, until his stomach couldn’t take any more. He sat on the bed, and let his head fall into his hands. Scents he’d been ignoring were filling him now, creating a map of the night before. The spot where he’d been lying on the floor, the muddy towel sitting in the trashcan, blackened hands groping at the drawers to find a dry pair of clothes. Fear. Why was Gilgamesh afraid? What did he have to be afraid of? There was no one left to care about what he had done… No one.

Cu swallowed back that lump once more.

“You used me.” he said quietly.

“I was not myself, Lancer.” Gilgamesh replied. The mattress creaked as he sat down beside him. “What was I supposed to do? Ask for a sip of your blood?”

“I don’t know… yeah. You know what, yeah, that’s all you had to do.” Lancer looked up tiredly. “Just say ‘hey, Lancer, I’m feeling weak, help me out!’” He scowled, and Gilgamesh looked at him like he’d just insulted him. “Fine, don’t say you’re feeling ‘weak’. Just… ask for help, for fuck’s sake.”

“Would you have given it to me?” Gilgamesh eyed him curiously, and for a second Lancer faltered. Of course it was easier to say yes not than it would be in the moment, but…

“Yeah. I would have. Cuz we’re supposed to be working together. We’re part of the same team, and teammates have each others backs! It’s what they do.” Cu growled. “They don’t- they don’t eat each other!”

“Even if they let them go afterward?” Gilgamesh chuckled slightly, and the atmosphere in the room shifted somewhat. The tension Cu had felt coming from Gil’s direction had melted somewhat, and the pressure on his chest was starting to dissipate.

“Yes. Even if they let them go.” He grunted. “Maybe you’re used to just taking whatever you want whenever you want it, but it doesn’t work that way with people, Gil.” He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and the look on Gil’s face seemed to say ‘agree to disagree.’ Cu sighed. Oh well. One personality altering lesson at a time. The clock said it was 3:30. He was definitely fired.

“I’ve called your boss already. You’ve been given the next few days off due to a personal emergency.” Gilgamesh said, noticing him looking.

“... oh.” Cu looked down at his knees. Everything felt a little surreal right now. That was probably a normal feeling for people who had just been regurgitated though.

“You took quite a beating last night. Physically and… otherwise. I think it best you take it slow. Your body needs rest.” Gilgamesh sounded almost concerned when he spoke, like a doctor talking to their patient. Cu nodded, but he was mostly thinking about how difficult it must have been to reform his body, and how much energy it would have taken to do it. He let his hand rest on Gil’s shoulder, smiling slightly.

“Thanks.” He said. Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow.

“For what?”

“For taking care of things. Of me.” Cu gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You may not be my first choice for a partner in crime, but… you’re alright.” He grinned, expecting Gil to scowl, or shoot him a withering look, but instead, the man nodded.

“You aren’t too bad yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we gooooooooo the end is here. Sorry it took so god damn long to finish this. I'm not super happy with the ending but I think I got the point across.


End file.
